Simon Says
by Ms. Unlucky
Summary: Burn Notice/NCIS - Part 2 of my Stalker!Verse - Michael's doing what he does best to help the NCIS, or rather, to help DiNozzo. His motives are unclear, even to himself, but hey, just another day in the life of Michael Weston, right?
1. Lend a Helping Hand

**Author Stuff~ **Alright, so here's the Sequel. I kinda want to make another one, but as I said in the notification in "Blame the Caffeine or Lack There Of" there will be Slashyness if I _do_ make another one. Um, for people who don't like Slash, have no fears, it's safe to read this. I didn't really make up my mind about making this _(Maybe)_ a Slash until the very end, so there isn't any mention of it until the very, _very_ last sentence. So you're good to go! ;D

**Warnings~ **Rated **'M'** for my potty mouth...

* * *

><p><strong>Simon Says<strong>

Tony's head hurt.

He wasn't about to reach into his desk drawer and pull out another couple of Tylenol though, not now, not when Gibbs was sitting at his desk just a few feet away. He felt pathetic and embarrassed enough as it was, he didn't need to go adding insult to injury.

Not only had he gotten nowhere with the interrogation with Lucas Stevens, but he had been manhandled, knocked unconscious, and cuffed to the table, _plus_ there was this little thing where the guy apparently broke into his apartment a few days after leaving a thing of _flowers_ and a _Get Well_ _card_ in his kitchen.

That sick fuck had now made a very little man out of him, he felt like even the McGeek was looking down at him, even though he was pretty sure that wasn't true. He didn't really think McGee had it in him. But still, he couldn't help but feel it though, and he was _sure_ Gibbs was pissed at him.

Or at least he was pissed in general.

They'd been chasing down dead end leads practically since the power had been shut off in the building and Stevens had escaped. So far they had come up completely empty handed.

_God_ did his head hurt…

Tony had been trying his best to ignore the instant replay of what happened in that interrogation room every time his treacherous mind threw it at him, but despite himself he found it nearly impossible to do. The lights going out, the clatter of the chair hitting the ground, the firm press of Stevens' body against his back as the man's arm encircled his neck; choking off his air supply until he passed out.

The man had moved fast, too fast for an ordinary assassin in Tony's opinion, but he tried his damnedest to keep that particular thought to himself, lest he look like a kicked puppy looking for an excuse.

He let out a heavy sigh, taking one last longing look at his desk drawer before picking up his office phone, following probably yet another dead end lead. It was only half past twelve, he didn't get off until seven; Tony could tell today was going to be a long, _long_ day.

* * *

><p>Tony contemplated how many times he'd need to slam his head into the hard brick wall until it killed him. Not to say that he was suicidal, well, not usually anyways. But this case had been particularly difficult, and now that they knew who the common-thief-gone-murderer was, they couldn't find him.<p>

Gibbs was riding their asses particularly hard too, and considering they still hadn't gotten anywhere with the Lucas Stevens case other than to discover that _'Lucas Stevens' _ wasn't his real name, meaning they knew absolutely _nothing_ about the guy, he didn't blame him.

He was getting ready to just say _fuck it_ and go see if Abby had anything for them _(even though he knew she didn't) _when his computer oh so politely informed him of a new e-mail. He opened it, curious and not recognizing who it was from:

SimonSays gmail . com

_**I come bearing gifts**_

_3342 Cobwell St North, second floor, room 205_

_Sincerely,_

_Simon_

For a moment Tony just sat there. 'What the Hell' didn't seem to do the moment any justice, and soon after leaping from his chair and informing Gibbs of the e-mail, he found himself crammed into the car with Ziva at the wheel. _(God help them all)_

It was a small, shitty apartment complex, and though on the outside room 205 didn't seem too special– its stained white door just as dirty and banged up as all the others– the unconscious and gagged man duck taped to a hard wooden chair inside the room made the trip totally worth their while.

It was one Gregory McKath, the common-thief-turned-murderer they had been hunting down for the past week. Not to say he wasn't happy for finding the guy, but the question of who had bound and gagged the criminal for them was a heavy gloom over their catch.

* * *

><p>He'd had several people ask if he knew exactly what he was doing, and for every person that asked there was the same reply: "No, not really." He seriously had <em>no<em> idea why he was helping the NCIS, he just… _was._

Personally, he completely blamed DiNozzo. Michael wasn't stupid, he knew he had caught Gregory McKath for him, but he wasn't sure _why._ He had no idea what he was thinking, or if he even was. But either way, he found himself buried in whatever new case DiNozzo and his team had been put on, looking for the killer of their newest victim: petty officer Lee Chung.

He had been stabbed repeatedly in a bar parking lot, left for dead. He bled out in the matter of minutes; a major artery had been ruptured. He was pretty sure it had been the guys best friend, Tyson Jefferson, because he was 85% positive Lee had slept with the guys wife.

He wasn't going to e-mail DiNozzo until he was sure though, it'd be kind of an asshole move to send him on a wild goose chase, and that's not the kind of impression he wanted to make. What kind of impression he wanted to make exactly, Michael wasn't sure, but he knew that wasn't it.

It bothered Michael that he wasn't sure what he wanted to _gain_ from all this, he always knew what and why he was doing something. So then why the _Hell_ was he doing _this?_

Fiona had teased several times that he was just trying to charm and buy his way into the Special Agents pants, and at the time he had sincerely scoffed at even the thought, but now… He wasn't so sure.

God, why were things always so complicated?

* * *

><p>Soooooo... Should I even bother making another one? o.O<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

The next part of this is posted now. (And yes, it's Slash from here on out) It's called "Subtly is Thy Middle Name" for those of you who are interested. :3

But for those who don't like Slash, I hope you enjoyed what I've done so far. ^.~


End file.
